A Beautiful, Terrible Thing
by aslytherspuff
Summary: AU. Harry and Ginny are on the English Quidditch team together. Harry has feelings for Ginny, but knows they will never be reciprocated; after all, the beautiful Ilvermorny graduate is the best Chaser the team has ever seen and has thousands of admirers, not to mention a boyfriend. Story told through both POVs. World where First Wizarding War happened but Second War did not.
1. Chapter 1

**A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

 **Ginny's POV**

I didn't even look up at the light tap on the door. I knew who it was, and I knew he'd let himself in in about three seconds time.

I tried to wipe the tears from my cheeks, but it was useless. More kept coming. I knew my eyes would be puffy and red; I'd been crying for the best part of an hour now, with no sign of the tears stopping, or even pausing for the briefest second, in the near future. I tried to even out my breathing, but the air hitched in my throat; when I exhaled, it was shaky and ragged.

As predicted, the door swung open cautiously and Harry stepped in, shutting it behind him. Since I purposely had my back to the door, he couldn't see my face, which bought me a few precious seconds.

"Hey, Gin. Not going back tonight?" he asked, casually, as he walked towards me. I couldn't see him, but I could hear his shoes squeaking on the cheap linoleum. I could have had wood, or even carpeting, but I didn't see the point. I only come in here on my occasional breaks and nights like tonight. We didn't finish training until gone two am, and I was expected back by five thirty for breakfast.

I knew my voice would betray me, so I just shook my head.

He came up behind me, but I didn't turn my head. I remained curled up on the couch, staring resolutely ahead. "Me, either," he commented. "I guess we're the only ones, aside from Oliver."

Oliver, our coach, never went back to his hotel, it seemed. Even if we had the gift of twelve or so hours off—all of which, for me, were spent either eating or catching up on some much-needed sleep.

I think he liked the privacy. The quiet.

I wish I had that luxury. I got screaming fans and Daily Prophet reporters everywhere I went. Just because I knew what I was letting myself in for when I joined the team didn't mean I liked it.

Harry came around the couch, going to sit on the other end. I knew the exact moment he saw my face. All the air left his lungs in a _whoosh_ and he froze, his eyes fixed on me.

"Ginny, what the fuck?"

But he knew. I knew he knew. He didn't have to ask. His eyes flicked to the letter, which was still clutched in my right hand, then back to my face.

"Oh God, Gin..."

The pain in his voice caused another ragged breath to hitch in my throat, coming out as a broken sob.

He sank down, sitting on the other end of the couch, facing me with a pained and worried expression. "What can I do? I'll do anything. Anything to make you happy again."

 **Harry's POV**

I walked towards Ginny's trailer after everyone else had gone back to their respective hotels. I didn't see the point, personally. Most of us didn't finish training until nearly three am, and I knew Alicia, Cho, and Bill had to be at morning training with Ginny and I.

There really was no point, but it was their call, I guess.

I wondered what Ginny and I would do tonight, if she wasn't already asleep. I doubted it. No matter how tired she was, she'd stay up that little bit longer to talk to me, or to hear me play a few songs for her on my guitar – a muggle invention she seemed fascinated by – before eventually bidding me good night and getting some much-needed sleep.

Not that I didn't need the sleep, but she would always come first. What Ginny wanted, Ginny got. Without question or discussion. It was automatic; I couldn't tell her no.

I knocked, but she didn't answer. That didn't bother me; it was rare that she _would_ answer. She was always listening to the Wizarding Wireless. By now, she kind of just expected me to let myself in, but I always knocked first, even if she couldn't hear me. The only time I _hadn't_ knocked, she had been butt-naked, and dancing around her trailer. I would never make that mistake again.

Not that I didn't enjoy the view. I did. A lot. It's a memory that replays in my mind, over and over, every time I shut my eyes. And even sometimes when I don't. So, no, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy the view.

It was that...she wasn't mine.

There. I admitted it.

She wasn't mine, and it was hell having to see her – the girl I wanted so badly it hurt – so very naked, and know that I couldn't do a damn thing. I couldn't tell her how beautiful she was, or how much I wanted her. I couldn't hold her, or touch her, or love her like I wanted to.

I had to smother those feelings, and continue being her best friend. I could do that, just so long as I didn't have to see her naked. Or see her with her boyfriend. He was nice enough, and Ginny loved him, but it was really a bit much to ask of my self-control.

I took a deep breath to clear my head, then stepped inside. Ginny was sitting on her beat-up, midnight blue sofa with her back to me.

There was no sound coming from the wireless, perched atop her dresser.

Was she asleep?

"Hey, Gin. Not going back tonight?" I asked, casually, as I walked toward her. I flinched a little at the sound of my shoes on the linoleum. I had cheap carpeting put down in my trailer, but I understood her reasoning behind choosing linoleum. I only used my trailer on my occasional breaks, and the odd night when Ginny came to me, instead of the other way around. I guess, since Ginny used her trailer about as much, she had decided the carpeting wasn't worth it.

She didn't speak, or turn to look at me. She just shook her head.

Was she mad at me? No, I didn't think so. Ginny wasn't the silent type. If I had pissed her off, I would know about it.

Something had to be wrong. Was it her dad? Her mum? One of her brothers, maybe? I didn't know her family well, but I had met them enough times to know that they were Ginny's life. Her dad was her hero, her mum was...well, everything a mum should be, and her brothers – Ron, Fred, and George – were her best friends.

I walked closer, until I was almost right behind her. She didn't move an inch. "Me, either," I commented, struggling desperately to keep my voice light, casual. "I guess we're the only ones, aside from Oliver."

Oliver, our coach, never went back to the hotel, it seemed. The only time he ever did was if his wife, Katie, visited. She was sweet, and everyone liked having her around, but her jobs as a healer and teacher at Hogwarts were time-consuming, and she was lucky if she got a weekend off, much less a week or two, unlike Bill's wife, Fleur. As a model, she could visit pretty much whenever she liked. Unfortunately, she was your stereotypical model; blonde, bitchy, snobby, and a very fussy eater. Oh, and did I mention she hated rain, clouds, wind, and the cold? That's all it ever is during the British winter. Welcome to reality, sweetheart.

I figured she either wasn't going to tell me at all, or was going to wait until I asked, so I went to sit down by her feet on the other end of the sofa. Then I saw her face. All the air left my lungs in a _whoosh_ and I froze, my eyes unable to leaver her face, and the heartbroken expression there.

"Ginny, what the fuck?"

But I knew. I didn't have to ask. My eyes flicked down to a roll of parchment, which she was clutching like a life preserver, then back to her face.

"Oh God, Gin..."

A ragged breath hitched in her throat, coming out as a broken sob. That did it for me. I couldn't take it. I sank down, sitting on the other end of the couch, and faced her with what I am sure was a pained and worried expression. I couldn't lie around her: every emotion showed clear as day on my face, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. "What can I do? I'll do anything. Anything to make you happy again."

 **Ginny's POV**

I'll admit it, I was a little forward, a little desperate, but my heart had been broken, shattered into a million pieces by the man who had promised to love me forever. So, without thinking, I crawled onto Harry's lap and buried my face in his chest. He didn't push me away or ask what I was doing, he just wrapped his arms around me and whispered, "I'll do whatever it takes."

I hoped he meant it, because it was going to take a hell of a lot of work on his part, and mine, to even begin to fix my broken heart.

He held me all night, letting me cry it out. He didn't speak; he didn't ask questions or try to comfort me with meaningless words. He knew me better than that. He knew what I needed, and what I needed was his presence. Nothing more; it was enough for me just to know that he, at least, was there for me. That he wasn't leaving me. That I was important to him, even if I was no longer important to Michael.

Eventually, I fell into a dreamless, exhausted sleep, with my head on his chest and my hand gripping the front of his shirt like it was the last thing on earth. Which, in a funny way, it kind of was.


	2. Chapter 2

**A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **Ginny's POV**

It felt like only moment since my eyes had finally drifted shut when I was jolted awake by the sound of Harry's wand beeping.

It was four am.

God, I felt like shit. My head hurt, my eyes hurt, and my mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. It was like having the worst hangover ever, times ten. And, believe me, I've had some hellish hangovers in my time.

Harry, who didn't appear to have slept at all, snapped out of his daze and fumbled to turn off the alarm. "Sorry," he croaked as he finally succeeded. He cleared his throat to explain, "Coffee run."

He got up and hour before he had to to get _coffee_? I knew he liked to have an espresso to wake him up, but I didn't know he liked it _that_ much.

"I know you can't live without your Pumpkin Caramel Latte."

He got up at four am for _me_? _He_ was the one who made sure there was a Latte waiting for me in the canteen every morning? And, dammit, I started crying again.

He said nothing; he pulled me into his chest and held me, just like he had all night.

"Why?" I rasped. I knew he was a good friend, and the quintessential English gentleman, but there was _no one_ I knew – even Michael – that would get up a full hour earlier than they had to simply to get me my coffee. No one was nice enough, or, I guess, crazy enough, to do it willingly, and the only time I was dumb enough to recruit an assistant to do it, she quit after only a week.

"It makes you happy," he explained, shrugging, as if getting up at four am to buy a friend coffee was the most normal thing in the world.

I coughed a couple of times in a mostly-useless attempt to clear my throat a little; I needed water, because my throat was as dry as the Sahara. I resorted to whispering, "What about the mornings when I have to be in hours before you?"

Harry shrugged. "There's not many of those, but I get you your coffee, then take a nap if I'm tired."

"You're crazy," I whispered, but he just shrugged again, a strange look crossing his face.

"Maybe I am," he agreed, and my heart nearly broke all over again at the private sadness in his eyes. Me and Harry were best friends, and we talked about _everything_ , even things that I would never have told Michael, but there were things, like the look I had just seen, that I knew better than to mention. I knew the difference between "personal" and "private", and these looks, these emotions, were private. Harry would tell me when, or if, he wanted to.

 **Harry's POV**

I wasn't expecting the reaction I got; I'll admit that I had dreamed about Ginny doing something like that a million times – though, obviously, under much better circumstances – but I never though it would ever actually happen. Ginny, the gorgeous, tiny red-head, the love of my life, crawled onto my lap and buried her face in my chest. Sure, she was soaking my shirt, but I wouldn't have it any other way; you couldn't pay me enough to make me move. Ginny was curled up on my lap, and she could stay there for as long as she wanted to. Forever, if she so desired. I wanted to comfort her, and to let her know, yet again, that I would do anything for her; I wrapped my arms around her and whispered, "I'll do whatever it takes." And I meant it. There was nothing—absolutely nothing—that I wouldn't do for her, under any circumstances, for any reason. As I said before, what Ginny wanted, Ginny got, without question, hesitation, or discussion.

I held her all night; no force on earth could have convinced me to let go. I didn't have anything to say, so I said nothing. It was probably better that way; I doubted condolences or false promises and cliché'd lines would comfort her. She needed me here, and I would stay until she forced me to leave. If it was the last thing I did, I would make her see that. I would prove to her that I wouldn't ever betray her, leave her, break her the way _he_ had.

And by owl post? Honestly? I couldn't believe he hadn't thought Ginny worth at least a face-to-face break-up. If he was going to be so cowardly as to do it without visiting, he should have actually _spoken_ to her, not sent some poor owl to deliver it in writing. I allowed my mouth to twist up into a cruel smile as I thought of the way I could get him back. He was deeply superstitious; I would have to do next-to-nothing to make him lose sleep for a couple months.

I knew when Ginny had eventually succumbed to sleep; her breathing evened out a little, and her body relaxed. Well, everything but her hand: her had was gripping the front of my shirt like it was the last thing on earth.

That worried me. Was she doing that because she needed to know I was there? Or because she thought I would leave? I ran my hand through her hair. "I would never leave, love," I whispered, softly. I knew she couldn't hear me, but I felt better saying it, anyway.

I spent the night thinking, day dreaming. Not really about anything in particular, but always about Ginny – anything and everything about Ginny.

I was still reeling from the shock of the news. As much I had selfishly wished they _would_ break up, I had never entertained the idea as I real possibility. Ginny and _Michael –_ there, I said his name – had been together for nearly three years, and had known each other since she was eleven. In everyone's mind – everyone except Michael, it seemed – it was thought that a proposal was on the horizon. No one had envisioned a break-up.

Slowly, an obnoxious beeping noise broke into my conscious, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to the present.

It was four am.

Shit. I looked down at Ginny worriedly, and, _dammit,_ she was awake. Aw, crap. She could have gotten another three-quarters of an hour of sleep. "Sorry," I croaked, fumbling for my wand and desperately trying to shut the damn alarm off. I could see Ginny staring at me curiously, so I cleared my throat to explain. "Coffee run," I told her. There was no need to hide anything; it was time to lay my cards on the table. "I know you can't live without your Pumpkin Caramel Latte."

And that was met by another entirely unexpected reaction from Ginny, though this one was less desirable, and far more confusing.

She burst into tears.

I said nothing, pulling her into my arms and holding her close. Since I was at a loss as to what to say, this was all I could do.

"Why?" she rasped. Her throat sounded as bad as mine felt, and I made a mental note to get her some water from her mini-fridge the minute I got up.

"It makes you happy," I explained, shrugging, as if getting up at four am to buy a friend coffee was the most normal thing in the world.

She coughed a couple of times, making me flinch. It sounded painful; I hoped she wasn't getting ill. "What about the mornings when I have to be in hours before you?" she whispered, her eyebrows pulling together in concern.

I shrugged again, hoping to appear off-hand about the whole thing. "There's not many of those, but I get you your coffee, then take a nap if I'm tired."

"You're crazy," she whispered, with a small smile.

"Maybe I am," I agreed, my heart aching. I was crazy to think such a perfect angel would ever love _me_. I was crazy to think we could ever be together.

But that wasn't going to stop me from trying.

 **Ginny's POV**

I declined Harry's offer for an early breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron. I had enough shit to deal with right now, without having to deal with psychotic fangirls and insufferable Prophet reporters at four-thirty in the morning. Harry seemed to agree with my reasoning because, not five minutes after he left, he was back.

I tried desperately to stem the tears that had taken over of me in his absence, but it was no use.

"Ginny? Honey, are you okay? Shh, I'm here. Breathe," came Harry's panicked voice. He rushed over to scoop me up into his arms. "Honey, what happened?" he asked, worriedly, pulling me into his chest as he sank down onto the sofa. I situated myself comfortably on his lap and relaxed against him.

I shook my head. I was just upset and overemotional, that was all; there was no reason for the tears except that he had left. I was just being stupid. "I'm... f-fine," I stuttered out. "R-really, just g-give me a, a m-minute." Harry seemed to understand; he held me close and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head, warming me from head to toe.

"Whatever it takes," he reminded me.

We didn't move until a knock on the door startled me; Harry seemed to have been expecting it. "It's okay, honey. It's just Romilda with our coffee. It's amazing what people will do for fifty galleons."

I stared at him in utter shock. "Fifty galleons?" I mean, yeah, we were both filthy rich, but _fifty galleons_ just to send someone else to get coffee that you could easily either get yourself or live without?

He shrugged. "As well as the cost of coffee for us, her, and Lavender; I even sent Shaklebolt over."

"Besides, you need a Pumpkin Caramel Latte and, after last night, I could do with something to wake me up, too."

" _Why_ , though? You could have got it yourself."

"I didn't want to leave you," he said, simply.

And, for some reason, I understood what he was saying. I didn't want him to leave me, either. We were better together, on the pitch and off. Sure, we were _good_ separately, but together... together we kicked ass. I smiled; it felt weird to do it, and the still-fresh tear in my heart ached in protest, but for once in my life, something finally felt _right_. "I didn't want you to leave me, either," I admitted.

 **Harry's POV**

I knew I had to go to the Cauldron, but I didn't want to leave Ginny. I wracked my brain for any way to do this without leaving her side; the only option was for her to join me. I knew she wouldn't, but I had to offer.

"Ginny, honey, do you want to come with me?"

She shook her head, as I knew she would. "It's four am and I just had the night from hell. I can't deal with fans right now, much less the reporters."

I had to agree with her. "Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?" She wouldn't be, but, again, I felt the need to ask.

Ginny just slid off of my lap and curled up on the sofa. "I'll live," was her unconvincing answer.

Standing up and walking out of her trailer was akin to pulling myself up a rock face with nothing but my bare hands. There was no way I was going all the way to the Cauldron, even if I apparated.

I pulled out my wand and called my assistant, Romilda. I wasn't stupid enough to try calling Lavender this early on her "late" day; she'd quit on the spot.

"What?" Romilda groaned, sleepily.

"Romilda?" I said, tersely. Why was she not awake yet? She had to be here in less than an hour, and Godric knows she took double that just to get ready.

"Oh, Harry, hello," she greeted me, in what I think was supposed to be a seductive tone. It sounded like a dying cat, but that might have just been bad signal. ' _Reception. Wand reception_ ,' I heard Ginny say in my head; I was so used to her Americanizing me that when I mentally corrected myself, I could hear her voice. I was pathetic.

"Romilda, I need you to stop by the Leaky Cauldron on your way in; I need a Pumpkin Caramel Latte and an espresso."

"The Leaky isn't _on the way_ , Harry. It's a twenty minute detour."

I didn't have the time or the patience to argue or bargain with her. "Fifty galleons, plus whatever the coffee costs. I'll pay for whatever you want for yourself, and whatever Ginny's assistant wants, and I'll send Shaklebolt to accompany you." Thank Godric that he was staying in the same hotel as her.

Romilda sighed. "What size?"

Thank Godric. "Biggest you can get. I'll see you at Ginny's trailer in three-quarters of an hour." And there was my internal Ginny, again: ' _Forty-five minutes_ ,' she corrected.

I hung up, and hurriedly called my bodyguard. "Shacklebolt, can you take Romilda to the Leaky, and then to the pitch," I rushed out.

Kingsley knew better than to ask questions; he knew he's be getting a huge tip for this. "Sure thing, son," he said. "I'll be waiting for her out front in ten. Catch you later."

"Catch you later."

I was in Ginny's trailer before I even had my _wand_ back in my pocket.

I didn't knock.

Ginny was curled up on the sofa, sobbing and shaking. Had something else happened? This was worse than it had been at any point last night.

"Ginny? Honey, are you okay? Shh, I'm here. Breathe," I said, panicking. I rushed over to scoop her up into my arms. "Honey, what happened?" I asked, pulling her as close to me as I could, and settling us both onto the sofa. Ginny shuffled a little bit, then leaned into my chest, shaking her head.

"I'm... f-fine," she eventually stuttered out. "R-really, just g-give me a, a m-minute." I didn't believe a single word, but I let it go; the last thing I wanted to do was to argue with her. I held her close and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, consequences be damned. Whether she loved me or not was irrelevant at this point. I was in love with her, and not even divine intervention was going to change my mind.

"Whatever it takes," I reminded her, meaning every word.

She relaxed in my arms and let me hold her until a knock on the door startled her.

"It's okay, honey. It's just Romilda with our coffee. It's amazing what people will do for fifty galleons."

I looked down to see her staring at me in utter shock. "Fifty galleons?"

Was it that hard to believe? I didn't know exactly how much I had in Gringotts, but I knew it was well into the millions. What's fifty galleons to make her happy, anyway? I shrugged. "As well as the cost of coffee for us, her, Lavender, and Kingsley." I didn't tell her about the money I now owed said bodyguard; he hated Romilda, and would want compensating handsomely.

She glared at me, her hazel eyes lighting with a dangerous flame. I rolled my eyes at her, fighting a smile. I'd never admit it, but I kind of loved it when she did that. It was just so _her_.

"Besides, you need a Pumpkin Caramel Latte, and, after last night, I could do with something to wake me up, too," I explained, in an attempt to rationalize what she clearly saw as an outrageous expense.

" _Why_ , though? You could have got it yourself," she persisted.

But I knew I couldn't have. I couldn't have left her. "I didn't want to leave you," I admitted, before I could stop myself.

But she didn't look mad. She looked thoughtful, like a light bulb had just lit in her brain. She looked... happy? Hopeful? And then she did the one thing that made my day. My month. My _year_.

She smiled.

I made her smile.

"I didn't want you to leave me, either," she admitted.

When we turned up at training together – twenty minutes late and looking less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed – a few eyebrows were raised, but no one said a word. I conjured two green teas and a cream cheese bagel for Ginny, handing it to her wordlessly as Oliver glared at us over the heads of the other players.

"Well," he said, sharply, "now that we're all here, we can begin."

Ginny flushed as red as her hair, hating the attention that was drawn to her for the second time in as many minutes. "Sorry," she muttered, tears threatening to spill over again. Oliver's expression softened slightly, and he turned to face the diagram behind him.

"We have an important match coming up, guys. We need to be prepared!" The diagram sprang to life, and the next three hours were consumed with discussions of formations, tactics, and fouls. Ginny was hardly paying attention, and as we broke for lunch, Oliver approached us.

"Weasley," he called, and Ginny lifted her head slowly. I could tell he wanted to talk to her alone, but I was reluctant to leave. "Go see Madam Granger. Immediately." Behind his brusque manner hid a very real concern for his players, especially Ginny. As the youngest player,Oliver often babied the girl, despite being well aware she could handle herself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ginny's POV**

"Weasley!" I was vaguely aware of Oliver's voice calling me, and I looked up to see him striding towards me, his robes flowing behind him. "Go see Madam Granger. Immediately," he snapped, pointing down the hallway to the healers' quarters.

"I'm f-"

"No! You aren't. Go."

I had never seen Oliver this angry, and tears filled my still-puffy eyes. I lowered my head so that no one would see, and stormed off in the direction of Madam Granger's room. Behind me, I could hear Harry speaking lowly, but passionately, to Oliver; whatever he was saying, he wasn't happy.

I reached Madam Granger's room and slammed open the door, not waiting to be invited in. "I'm fine! Nothing's wrong! I don't need to be here!" I screeched, feeling hot tears pour down my cheeks.

Madam Granger and her apprentice, Healer Lovegood, looked up in shock. "Sit down," the older healer said, curtly, as Luna left, shutting the door behind her. The witch took my hands in hers and met my eyes, "Ginny, what's wrong?" The older witch's genuine concern set off a wave of sobs, through which I tried to explain everything that had happened in the last six hours.

Madam Granger watched me, her face impassible, as I reached the end. "Oliver obviously thinks I can't handle myself," I griped, "since he sent me down here instead of letting me have lunch."

The healer patted my hand consolingly. "Physical injuries aren't the only things us healers can help with, Ginevra." She stood up and began to sort through her potions cabinet, taking out a handful of different bottles and pouches, which she placed on her desk. "While I'm happy for you to continue with training as normal, I do recommend you get plenty of rest, and avoid spending too much time alone... which shouldn't be a problem." The witch's eyes twinkled, and I blushed; I knew exactly which young, handsome wizard she was referring to. "Take a pinch of this," she said, indicating to a dark blue pouch, "with three drops of this," she added, pointing to a tall, thin glass bottle, "if you have any trouble sleeping." I nodded, knowing I'd need it. "And take these," she continued, showing me a leather pouch and a green bottle, "to help with the, uh, _emotional_ aspects."

I rolled my eyes. "To stop me crying like a baby, you mean?"

Madam Granger's lips twitched, "Well, that's one of the things, yes." She wrapped the concoctions up into a parcel. "Now, go get something to eat. I'll expect you back here on Friday at noon."

 **Harry's POV**

I looked up, relieved to see Ginny emerging from Hermione's office looking a little calmer than when she went in. Without thinking, I slid down the bench towards Neville, making space for Ginny to sit beside me. Luckily, she noticed, and a few seconds later, she lowered herself onto the bench, her arm brushing mine.

"Are you okay?" I murmured, so that no one else would hear. I tried not to let the concern I was feeling colour my tone, but it couldn't be helped; it was useless trying to keep my guard up around her. She barely nodded, pulling her robes aside to reveal a small parcel of potions from the Healer. I only hoped they would be enough.

"So, Weasley," Colin shouted down the table. Ginny looked up, plastering a fake smile on her face. "The match against America is coming up. Feel like a traitor, yet?"

Ginny laughed despite herself at Colin's teasing. "Not yet!"

His brother Dennis leapt up to join in. "What about that boyfriend of yours? Is he coming?"

Instinctively, I grabbed her hand as she gasped, her smile wavering and tears filling her eyes. She squeezed my hand, took a deep breath, and gathered herself. Dennis hardly noticed the hesitation.

"Oh, I don't think so," she said, breezily. I was immediately grateful to Hermione for the potions she had given her. I'd have to stop by later to thank her.

"Why not?" Alicia, one of the chasers, chimed in. "I've been dying to meet him!"

Ginny gave her a tight smile. "I guess he has other things to be doing," she said, curtly. "Or should I say, other witches."

I felt the air leave my lungs as the entire team gasped. "That scumsucking _bastard_!" I exclaimed before my brain had time to censor my mouth. Thankfully, the majority of the team seemed to agree with me, chiming in with their own insults and ideas for revenge. Out of the corner of my eye, though there were still tears in her eyes, I could see a smile tugging on the edges of Ginny's lips.

 **Ginny's POV**

Despite the ache deep in my chest, I couldn't help but smile as the whole team exploded with insults and suggestions for revenge.

"Hex that lubberwort so hard he can never do magic again!"

"Hex his bollocks off!"

"If I ever see that slimy prune again, I'll—"

Suddenly, the hall fell silent. Oliver was standing in the doorway, looking equal parts amused and horrified. "You'll what, Miss Chang?" he inquired, politely.

Cho turned to face him, unashamed. "I'll make Azkaban look like a holiday camp," she replied, sweetly. The whole team sniggered, even Oliver, who quickly composed himself.

"I hope you aren't talking about me," he teased, his voice serious. Cho wasn't fooled, and her innocent smile didn't waver for a second.

"Nope."

I realised Cho wasn't going to make Oliver privy to my private life, and breathed a sigh of relief. Beside me, Harry relaxed everything but his grip on my hand.

Oliver levelled us all with an evil grin. "Last one on the pitch is running drills!"

We all leapt up and scrambled for the changing rooms, shoving each other out of the way as we went. Finally, I had something else to focus on. Something I was good at. And my heart felt that little bit lighter.

 **Harry's POV**

"Potter! What the fuck are you doing?" Oliver's voice drifted up from the ground to where I was, about 100 metres up, circling in the air above the pitch. We'd been training for over an hour, and I had yet to even catch sight of the Snitch.

I pretended I hadn't heard him and kept circling, but the truth was, I wasn't even looking for the Snitch. I was watching Ginny. At first, I had been watching her with concern, unsure that she was in any fit state to be on a broomstick. Now, I was watching her in awe as she played better than I'd ever seen, scoring goal after goal with the Quaffle until the score was 760 – 0. Even if I caught the Snitch five times over, her team would win.

A few minutes later, Oliver blew the whistle, and we all dove down, landing on the pitch within seconds of one another. The other team's Seeker, our reserve player Malfoy, hadn't had any luck, either, despite not having the distraction of a gorgeous red-headed witch to worry about. Despite this, he shot me a smug look, as if his team's victory was somehow down to him. I sneered at him, and hurried over to Ginny, picking her up and spinning her around.

"Wow! I didn't know you could play like that!"

I realised my mistake the minute the words left my mouth. I hadn't meant to imply that I was surprised at her skill – I had always known she was the best Chaser alive, I had just never seen her play quite like that.

She glared at me as I set her down. "Gee, Harry, thanks for that," she muttered sarcastically, before linking arms with Alicia and Cho and waltzing off to the girls' changing rooms.

Noticing that Oliver was glaring at me, I quickly rearranged my expression and turned to face him. "Sorry, Wood." I rubbed my head for effect. "Terrible migraine. Can't see a thing. Gonna go see Hermione." I rushed off the pitch before he could question me, bypassing the changing rooms and heading straight to the healers' rooms.

Hermione looked up with a smile. "Hey, Harry!"

I couldn't help but smile, and pulled the witch into a tight hug. "Hey!"

As I let her go, she stepped back and frowned, "Are you okay?"

Oh, yeah. I was muddy and sweaty, still in my Quidditch gear. I laughed, "Yeah, I'm fine, not injured, I promise!" I paused for a second. "Though if you could tell Wood I've got a migraine, I'd love you forever."

Hermione laughed. "You already love me forever," she pointed out, teasingly. "For saving your arse a million times at Hogwarts."

I raised an eyebrow. "True, and you already love _me_ forever for..." I trailed off. "Wait, what have I done, again?"

Hermione mock-glared at me. "Nothing, Potter. You never do anything, that's the problem."

"I'll make it up to you. I promise." I had no idea how. I'd been making that same promise for over a decade now, and had yet to come up with anything, but I knew she didn't mind. She was practically a sister to me, and the only real family I had apart from the uncles who raised me.

She rolled her eyes, "One day, Potter. One day." She made a few notes on some parchment and handed it to me. "Here. You are excused from training for the rest of the day. Now, I assume this isn't merely a social visit?" She raised one knowing eyebrow and I blushed.

"Uh... no."

"Miss Weasley will be fine. You know I can't tell you any more than that."

I groaned. "But Mione... You're my best friend. My _sister_."

Hermione glared at me. "Healer-patient privilege, Potter. Off you go."

I looked down, feeling like a misbehaving child. "Yes, Hermione."

As I reached the door, Hermione cleared her throat. "Oh, Mr Potter..." I stifled a giggle and resisted the urge to call her 'Madam Granger' in return. "I think you'll find that some of my recently prescribed potions are best taken under supervision." She hadn't looked up from her paperwork, but I could see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 _Thank Godric for Hermione._


	4. Chapter 4

**A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **Harry's POV**

I spent the remainder of the day in my trailer, sending Romilda out to fetch me some food for dinner, then letting her finish her day early. I encouraged Kingsley to do the same.

When Romilda had delivered my food, I had curled up on my mattress, feigning sleep – I was, after all, supposed to be suffering with a terrible migraine. As soon as she was gone, however, I had cast a blackout charm on the windows to hide the sight of me pacing the trailer endlessly from anyone who might walk past. Especially Ginny, I realised, grimly. I was far more afraid of her than I was of Oliver.

I knew I had upset Ginny earlier, and I knew I had to put it right, but I had no idea how. I kicked myself for not taking the opportunity earlier to ask Hermione. She was a girl, of sorts, and she would probably have given me some insight into the endless complexity of a woman's brain. I thought about sending her an owl under the pretence of needing more painkillers, but talked myself out of it. I needed to man up and figure this out for myself.

All afternoon, I ran conversations through my mind, trying to figure out what I could say to apologise. As I paced, my hands ran through my unruly black locks, pulling at it and making it stand on end. A glance at the blacked-out windows froze me in my tracks. The bags under my eyes were almost as black as my hair, and my skin looked unnaturally pale, save for my cheeks flushed red with stress. I looked a mess; there was no way I could visit Ginny looking like this.

Cursing under my breath, I apparated to my hotel room and headed straight for the shower.

The hot water poured down my back like flames licking my skin, but I didn't care. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was her. Last month, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight as I played her favourite song on my guitar. A few weeks ago, dancing naked in her trailer without a care in the world, her hips swaying and her red locks flowing down her bare back. Last night, clinging to me, her tiny hands gripping my shirt as my lips brushed against the top of her head; not quite a kiss, but almost. This morning, smiling when I admitted to getting up early to buy her coffee. This afternoon, watching her turn into a lithe, athletic, and devastatingly brilliant Chaser, her tiny body flying around the pitch with more strength and grace than the world's greatest gymnast.

 _I'm in love with her_ , I realised. The realisation didn't surprise me, not really; I'd been drawn to the petite Chaser from the first moment I met her, and I wasn't exactly blind to the fact that my feelings went well beyond friendship or simple physical attraction. Even as ignorant as Hermione seemed to think I was to my emotions – once describing me as having "the emotional range of a teaspoon" – there was no denying this. I was in love with Ginevra Weasley.

Instead of feeling elated, though, I felt angry. _Why did I have to make things complicated?_ I slammed the tap down in frustration, abruptly ending my shower, and wrapped my towel roughly around my waist. I towelled off and dressed, still annoyed and stomping around the room in a temper. _For Merlin's sake, couldn't anything be straight forward?_

Still fuming, I apparated back to my trailer and opened myself a bottle of strong mead to settle myself down; the last thing I wanted to do was upset Ginny by being in such an awful mood.

Finally, I heard the sounds of people apparating back to their hotels. My time was up.

As I approached Ginny's trailer, the light was on, and I could hear voices inside. I recognised Ginny's voice immediately. The second voice was deeper, quieter. I stiffened. If that bastard skelpie Michael had turned up...

I knocked harshly, anger rushing back, causing my hands to shake; I balled them into fists, ready for a fight. I could take that useless squib any day.

The voices inside stopped, and I held my breath. I heard heavy footsteps making their way across the trailer to the door. I tensed. The door swung open.

I relaxed instantly. In the doorway was a tall, lean, ginger man, grinning at me. He looked so much like Ginny, it was unmistakeable. "Hi," I held out my left hand, my right still clutching my wand. "You must be one of Ginny's brothers."

The red-headed man stepped back, allowing me into the trailer, and shook my hand firmly. "Ron. Ron Weasley," he said, with a thick American accent; his smile lit his whole face.

I couldn't help but smile back; like Ginny, his smile was infectious. "I'm Harry. Harry-"

"HARRY POTTER!" Ron suddenly yelled, making both Ginny and I jump. "You're the youngest seeker in-"

"A century," I finished, flushing uncomfortably. "Yeah, I know."

Ron spun around to face Ginny. "You didn't tell me you were friends with _Harry Potter_!"

Ginny fixed her brother with a glare, anger flashing dangerously in her hazel eyes. "Well, Ronald," she said, hotly, "we are on the same Quidditch team."

His sister's anger didn't seem to bother him, as he turned to face me in awe. "I can't believe I'm meeting Harry Potter," he whispered, almost to himself.

I shuffled uncomfortably. "Uh, well, it's good to meet you, too, Ron," I offered, awkwardly. "Ginny tells me you play Quidditch, too?"

"Not like you though!"

I made eye contact with Ginny, who grimaced. "Honestly, Ronald. Pull yourself together!" She strode over to her fridge and pulled out a Firewhisky. "Here. Drink this, you lubberwort."

Ron took a swig of the strong drink, then turned to Ginny in confusion. "Wait. What the fuck is a lubberwort?"

Ginny caught my eye and we both burst into laughter, making Ron's face flush red. "Y'all suck," he mumbled under his breath.

Ron being here had scuppered my plans to apologise to Ginny, but it seemed she was over it, anyway. She smiled at me, patting the seat beside her. "Come on, Harry. Join us for drinks."

I hardly took my eyes off her for the rest of the night, but if Ron noticed, he didn't say anything. It was amazing to see her eyes light up when she talked about her family, especially her nieces and nephews. Her oldest brother, Fred, and his wife, Angelina, had just had their third child – a baby girl named Millie – and Ginny doted on all three of them. As Ron passed the photos over, the love that filled her was palpable.

"I can't wait to meet her," she whispered, softly, and my heart felt as if it would burst. As I felt the heat reach my face, I looked away and took another swig of Firewhisky, trying desperately to drown out the images of Ginny holding a tiny, brown-haired baby. _Our_ baby.

"What about you, Ron?" I asked, as casually as I was able, trying to divert my attention away from the woman beside me.

Ron looked up in shock. "What 'bout me?"

"Do you have a wife? Kids?"

Ginny snickered. "Ron? A wife?"

Ron shot her a dirty look, and I looked between them in confusion. "Sorry, I, uh..." I stuttered, wondering if I had just put my foot in my mouth. I'd assumed the 25 year old wizard would have long since settled down, with his attachment to his family and clear love of children he'd brought photos of, but clearly I'd made a significant blunder somewhere. I seemed to be good at that when Ginny was involved; she short-circuited my brain.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Ron. "Knowing Ron, he might have loads of kids out there, but he wouldn't remember the witches' names if he tried."

Ron's face flushed red. "That's not true!" he contested, angrily.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really, Ronald? And where were you last night when I owled you?"

Ron looked away. "Doesn't matter," he muttered.

"You don't even know her name, do you?" she asked, scathingly, and even I flinched at the disdain in her voice. "I bet you can't even remember what she looked like!"

"Oh, yes, I can!" he yelled. "She was..." his voice faltered, "blonde."

Realising that this was just the start of an argument between the tipsy, fiery pair, I started to stand. Ginny grabbed my hand. "Where are you going?" she demanded, the alcohol making her louder and bolder than usual.

"Uh... Well, Ron's here. So I was going to head to bed...?" I stuttered, unsure if this was the right answer.

"Oh, don't be silly. Ron's about to leave, anyway."

He looked upset for a second, but then checked the time. When he looked back at us, his face was a carefully arranged, ambiguous mask. "Merlin! Is it that time already?" he gasped dramatically. He was a truly terrible liar. _But why would he make up an excuse to leave?_ He'd only been here a few hours, and he'd come all the way from America to see her. If anyone should be going, it was me. I wasn't family, and I saw Ginny every day.

"Really, Ginny. I'll just-"

She flew to her feet. "You will do no such thing, Harry James Potter!"

I flinched, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ron edge towards the door. "See you tomorrow, Gin!" he called cheerfully as he hurried out of her trailer.

 **Ginny's POV**

I barely noticed Ron leave; my attention was on the tall, black-haired man in front of me.

"So, Harry," I whispered, leaning closer, "we're all alone now."

Something flashed through his eyes, but I was too inebriated to tell what it was. Aside from his face, everything blurred and spun around me, but I didn't care. I was single. Harry was single. Ron was gone. Suddenly, I felt the floor rushing towards my face.

Strong, warm arms grabbed my waist, holding me inches from the floor.

"Ginny," a soft voice whispered in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Ginny, love, you're drunk."

 _I'm not drunk! I'm fine!_ I tried to tell him, but for some reason, my mouth refused to co-operate.

 **I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Let me know what you think :)**

 **I've had a review from DukeBrymin asking why Harry can conjure green teas but not Ginny's beloved Pumpkin Latte. This is because the Pumpkin latte is made only by the Leaky Cauldron using a secret recipe that cannot be replicated by a mere wave of a wand (how would they make money if you could do that?), and because green tea is stocked in the kitchen of the training grounds; Harry merely magically requests them to appear ready-made in his hand.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING**

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

 **Ginny's POV**

 _The sun was bright and warm on my skin, and the breeze barely ruffled my hair as I floated a few feet above the ground._

 _"_ _Come on, Potter!" I goaded. "What are you scared of?"_

 _Below me, Harry was lazing on the grass wearing nothing but a well-fitted pair of jeans and a crooked smile. I blushed, instinctively moving my broom closer to him._

 _"_ _Scared?" Harry scoffed. "Hardly. I'm just enjoying the view," he said, smirking and winking. Was he talking about me?_

 _The breeze picked up, whipping my skirt around my calves. Oh. Oh! My cheeks flamed red. So that was the view Harry was talking about._

 _Unbidden, the thought that Harry so clearly appreciated the view up my skirt sent a wave of heat coursing through me with only one destination in mind. Unconsciously, I lowered my broom, my bare feet brushing the long grass below me._

 _Harry pouted. "Now that's not fair at all!" he complained, motioning towards me. I didn't know whether I was upset or relieved he could no longer see what he was so clearly relishing in looking at._

 _"_ _Pervert," I muttered, only half-serious._

 _"_ _Ginny," he murmured, green eyes burning with desire._

 _"_ _Harry," I whispered back, my voice almost a whimper._

 _"_ _Ginny."_

His voice no longer sounded seductive.

 _"_ _Ginny."_

"Ginny. Wake up."

My eyes slowly peeled open, wincing at the brightness. _What the fuck?_

"Praevelo," a voice muttered. I felt a warm breath brush against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. The light dimmed, and I opened my eyes a little more, willing the world into focus around me.

 _Oh!_

A small gasp escaped my mouth as my eyes finally focussed on the object closest to me; the source of the warmth, the soft breathing, and the spell that was currently darkening the windows and protecting me from the god-awful sunlight. Heat spread across my face and I closed my eyes tightly.

 _This is just a dream. Just another bizarre, alcohol-induced dream. When I open my eyes, I'll be alone in my trailer, and everything will be back to normal._

I breathed deeply and counted to five before slowly opening my eyes.

Deep green eyes stared back into mine, clouded with concern. "Ginny, are you okay?" Harry whispered.

I felt panic rising in my chest and my eyes stung with tears for what felt like the hundredth time in twenty-four hours. _Why did I keep crying whenever this man was around? He must think I'm a crazy, hormonal teenager._ The thought made me blush harder, and the panic in my chest rose steadily up to my throat, closing it completely. My eyes flew to Harry's, wide with panic.

 _I can't breathe._

 _Harry, I can't breathe!_

My hand clawed at my neck, sure that something was strangling me.

 _I can't breathe!_

Suddenly, it all went black.

 **Harry's POV**

I stared down at Ginny in horror. "Ginny. Ginny!" I called, my strangled voice sounding strange to my own ears. I shook her shoulder gently, but she was completely limp. Soft, even breaths rose from her lips, assuring me that, if not okay, she was at least still alive.

I grabbed my wand from where I had dropped it onto the floor. Without thinking, I flicked it in one fluid motion. "Expecto patronum." A silver stag appeared, lighting up the darkened room. "Get Ron Weasley."

It wasn't until the stag left that I realised what I had said. I'd asked for Ron. Not Hermione. Not Luna. Not either of the rational people to call in a medical emergency, but Ginny's brother. Ginny's brother who had no business knowing I'd spent the night with his baby sister.

A wry smile touched my lips; Ginny would hex me into next week if she ever heard me call her Ron's baby sister, or anything else that remotely indicated naivety or weakness on her part.

I jolted as a soft pop announced Ron's arrival. He barely seemed to notice me as his eyes flew to Ginny and he fell to his knees beside her. Reaching past me, he grabbed two pillows and placed them under Ginny's legs, then carefully slid the pillow out from under her head, lowering it gently to the mattress.

"Come on, Gin," he whispered, clearly worried, but not panicked as I'd thought he would be. "Wake up." Ron took out his wand and drew it gently across Ginny's forehead. "Defervesco," he muttered softly, repeating the action several times. From where I was sitting, I could feel a slight, cooling breeze emanating from the tip of his wand. _Huh_ , I thought, I _'ve never heard that spell before_. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Slowly, Ginny's eyes began to flutter, and, instinctively, I leapt up to fetch a cold bottle of water from her fridge. Why Americans insisted on drinking bottled water when perfectly good, free water came from taps, I would never know.

I held the bottle out to Ron, who took it absent-mindedly and placed it on the floor beside him. "Hey, Gin," he murmured. "You're okay, now. Let me know when you want to sit up."

She blinked groggily, took several slow breaths, then slowly nodded. Ron seemed to know what she wanted, and wrapped his arms around her, helping her to sit up against the wall. As Ron's hands were full, I quickly picked the water up and handed it straight to Ginny.

"Thanks," she whispered, before her whole body stiffened. Ron's did, too, and in unison, they both slowly looked up at me.

"Harry?" they both gasped.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

I fought the urge to look away, knowing it would make me look guilty. I had nothing to be feel guilty of, so I met Ron's glare steadily. "Good morning, Ron," I said, cooly, before turning my attention back to Ginny. "Morning, Gin. How are you feeling?" I hadn't intended for the difference between my tones to be quite so stark, but I couldn't help how my voice softened whenever I spoke to her.

Ron stood up. He was lanky, almost thin, but several inches taller than me, and his body towering over mine completely blocked my view of Ginny. "Get your eyes off her, you pervert," he spat, menacingly.

I kept my expression carefully neutral and refused to break eye contact. His behaviour was so ridiculous it would have been comical if he wasn't so angry. Last night, he was unashamedly trying to hook us up; this morning, he looked like he wanted to kill me.

"Ronald!"

Ginny's voice was weak and hoarse, but carried all the authority I'd heard so many times on the Quidditch pitch. We both rushed to her side, Ron roughly elbowing me out of the way to get closer.

"Ginny," he murmured, "are you okay?"

A loud crack reverberated off the walls, and I blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Ron recoiled from his sister, clutching his scarlet cheek. Ginny had slapped him.

"Leave. Harry. Alone." she threatened, darkly, enunciating each word clearly.

I braced myself for Ron to turn on me, but he didn't. With one glance at Ginny's murderous expression, he deflated. "Sorry, Ginny."

Ginny growled, and my mouth flew open in shock. _Holy hell_ , I thought, _remind me never to get on her bad side!_

Ron sighed and turned to me, avoiding meeting my eyes. "Sorry to you, too, Harry," he muttered, though I didn't think for a minute that he really meant it. Ginny coughed quietly. "And thank you for looking after my sister," he eventually added, sounding as if each word was being tortured out of him.

I shuffled awkwardly, "S'alright," I muttered, unsure what else to say.

"Right!" said Ginny, suddenly. "I'll see you both at lunch in half an hour."

Aware that we were both being soundly dismissed, Ron stood up and headed for the door.

"Bye," he spat, bitterly, as the door slammed behind him.

I flinched. "See you at lunch, Ginny. If you need anything, just let me know." Ginny smiled softly, but didn't meet my gaze. Before I could say anything stupid, I apparated to my own trailer, sinking down onto the sofa with my head in my hands.

 _What on earth had we done last night?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much to all of you who have favourited, followed, and reviewed this story so far.**

 **I want to apologise to Sirenstrong0617 who asked so nicely for me to update sooner - I am more or less writing this story as I go along, so I didn't have a chapter to give you at the time! I hope this update makes up for it.**

* * *

 **A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING**

 **CHAPTER SIX**

 **Harry's POV**

I arrived at the dining hall late, hoping to slip in while everyone was eating, and to sit as far away from Ginny's bipolar brother as possible, but that hope was blown out of the water the minute I opened the door.

Ginny's eyes met mine, her whole face lighting into a brilliant smile, and I couldn't help but melt. Shoving her less-than-pleased brother over, she made space for me on the bench and waved me over. I really, really didn't want to deal with Ron, but how could I say no to her?

Smiling despite myself, I walked over, greeting her with a gentle hug. "How are you feeling?" I whispered, not wanting to alert the whole team to the earlier incident. Honestly, it was still bothering me, but I didn't want to pry, especially not in front of sixteen other people.

Ginny nuzzled gently into my neck, sending warm shivers through my whole body. "I'm okay, Harry. Can we talk about it later?"

I nodded, my cheek brushing against her soft hair. "Of course."

I reluctantly let go, and sat down beside her, waiting for Ginny's brother to make another dig or comment about me. One never came. In fact, ten minutes later, the man hadn't spoken a single word. Curious, I leaned forward to look at him. He was sitting as still as a rock, mouth slightly open, staring intently at... I followed his gaze, wondering what on earth... _Hermione!_

Ginny's brother was staring, transfixed, at Hermione. She was pretending not to notice, but the soft, pink blush visible under her freckles said otherwise. Luna, her apprentice, was chattering away beside her, apparently unaware of Ron's unwavering stare and Hermione's embarrassment. Knowing Hermione as well as I did, I'd bet my Gringotts' vault on the fact that she hadn't heard a single word Luna had spoken in the past ten minutes.

I nudged Ginny, nodding silently towards Ron. She, too, followed his gaze, her mouth dropping open in a mirror image of her older sibling as she realised who he was so fixated on. Her eyes met mine again, sparkling with mischief. _Oh dear. She was scheming. Godric help us all._

 **Ginny's POV**

I sat at the table, pushing food around my plate and pretending to listen to Parvati, one of the reserve chasers, prattle on about her latest boy toy. Really, I was paying attention to the man on my left; every now and then, his elbow or his foot would gently brush against mine, sending an electric shock through my body. Willing my cheeks not to betray me by flushing as red as my hair, I bit my lip and tried to think of boring, unsexy things like my Aunt Muriel and my Ilvermorny Arithmancy professor.

Suddenly, I felt a more deliberate nudge and jumped slightly, turning entirely too quickly to look at Harry. He didn't seem to notice; he was too busy looking at Ron, who was staring lovingly at... Madam Granger? My brother had a crush on _Madam Granger_? _Surely, he must be looking at Alicia_ , I thought, _she's his type. Curvy, vivacious, and blonde._ But Alicia got up to leave with Cho and Parvati, and Ron's gaze didn't waver. He was staring at Madam Granger. Now, don't get me wrong, Madam Granger was pretty; slim and brunette, with soft brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. But she was a simple, understated kind of beauty; she never wore make-up or straightened her unruly curls or wore revealing clothes. In short, she was the complete opposite of everything Ron ever wanted in a woman. _Which_ , I thought with a smirk, _is exactly what he needs_. I turned back to meet Harry's gaze, a plan already forming in my mind. I was going to make my brother fall in love with Hermione Granger.

Ron decided to come back to my trailer after lunch, wanting to quiz me about what was going on between Harry and I. Even my hardest 'mother glare', which normally sent him cowering in fear, didn't phase him. In fact, he didn't even seem to notice; he was too busy glancing out of the window and pretending not to be glancing out of the window.

Realising he wasn't really listening, I cast a praevelo charm on the window, blocking his view. "Oi! Ron! Harry's not coming. Calm down."

Ron flushed red at being caught, but looked at me in confusion. "Harry?" he asked, incredulous. "What on earth are you on about, Gin?"

 _Wasn't that who he was... Oh!_ Realisation dawned on me and I smirked. "Oh," I said slowly, watching him shift uncomfortably, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "You were looking for Madam Granger, weren't you?"

Ron's lips curved into a small smile. "That's her name? _Madam Granger_?" His head tilted, his brow furrowing. "That sounds so... old. She isn't that old, is she?"

I reached out to pat Ron's arm. I wanted to tease him for being so transparent, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I'd never, ever seen my youngest brother soften like this without the help of copious amounts of Firewhisky, so I decided to take pity on him. "No, Ron, she's not old. She's Harry's age, I think. Twenty-two or twenty-three."

I immediately regretted mentioning Harry's name; Ron was thrilled to have a reminder of what he was here to question me about.

"How do you know how old Harry is?" he demanded.

I rolled my eyes. "I went to his birthday party last summer, Ronald."

"That was months ago! Why do you remember?"

Oh, for fucks sake. "Ronald, you're being ridiculous!" I snapped, fixing him with a steely gaze. "You're here to make me feel better, not to scare off my best friend!"

Ron glared back, but did lower his voice. "Oh? Is that what you're calling it these days? Best friends?"

I clenched my hands at my side, willing myself not to hit him. I really shouldn't hit him. I really shouldn't hit him, but, sweet Merlin, he deserved it. "Yes, Ronald. Best friends. If you recall, _I GOT DUMPED TWO DAYS AGO_!"

Ron had the decency to flinch backwards at that, and a look of shame crossed his face, however briefly. Regaining his composure, he squared his shoulders. "Oh, so you weren't shagging him last night, then?" he demanded.

My mouth flew open. _Well, I didn't see that one coming._ "Absolutely _NOT_ , Ronald! How _dare_ you!" My hand flew up to hit him, but he grabbed my wrist, holding it painfully tightly.

"How dare I?! In case you haven't noticed, Ginevra, that boy is practically undressing you with his eyes every time he looks at you! He wants to get his hands on you!"

"I wish he would!" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I tear my wrist out of Ron's grip.

"You say the dumbest shit when you're mad." Ron hasn't realised yet that I hadn't said that to bait him. I know the instant he's realised, though, because his hands ball into fists and his whole body freezes. "Tell me you're joking." Ron's voice is low, threatening.

I want to tell him it was a joke, but I can't. I'm still reeling from the revelation that hadn't even occurred to me before I said it. Before I can formulate a response, my stunned silence has given Ron all the answers he needs.

"You know what? Fuck you, Ginny," he snarled, apparating on the spot.

I sank down onto the sofa, dropping my head into my hands, my mind spinning at a million miles an hour. I should've seen this coming. _Michael did_ , I thought, bitterly. Harry and Michael had met over Christmas, and had taken an instant dislike to one another. I had been shocked and, honestly, a bit heartbroken that my best friend and boyfriend couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other. Naively, I'd had assumed they'd be best friends, and had planned loads of stuff for the three of us to do. Michael and I had ended up doing it all without Harry; I was miserable that we'd left Harry behind, and he'd been furious that I wasn't happier to be spending time with him. I'd accused him, more than once, of being utterly ridiculous, while he had contended, angrily, that "the Potter boy" had "designs" on me. In the end, he'd gone home two days early in an complete tantrum. He had written to me a week later, apologising profusely, and we'd reconciled rather amorously over a long weekend, where I'd made absolutely no mention of Harry, and nor had he. But, I was starting to realise, maybe the break up wasn't as unexpected as I'd first thought. We had been fighting more and talking less for months. He had never wanted me to come to England; he couldn't understand why I wouldn't just play for an American team or, really, why I'd want to play at all. My family weren't wealthy, and had lost what little they had in the First Wizarding War, but Michael's family were a long line of wealthy American academics in both the no-maj and wizarding worlds. His plan had been for us to teach at the same school or university for a few years after we married, then for me to settle into a comfortable life as a mother and housewife for the rest of my days.

I sighed, curling up on the sofa, my knees tucked up to my chin. I had loved Michael, and I had – and still did – dream of one day being the kind of mother mine had been to me: a perpetual presence in a big, chaotic household full of love and laughter. But I would never be content to settle for being 'just' that, and Michael had never understood that. I had always seemed so far away that it wasn't worth arguing about; a bridge we would cross another day, when the time came, when we were older and more mature _… and one of us had changed our minds_ , I thought, rolling my eyes at my own naivety. I'd truly believed that I would one day become content to follow Michael's plan, or that he would one day be supportive of mine, but I'd never considered the possibility that our goals would always be incompatible.

 _Harry supports you._ The thought crept into my mind, unbidden, before I could shut it out. _My brothers support me, too_ , I argued, _and I don't want to marry them! Besides, being supportive is just what friends do. Being supportive isn't the same as... As what?_ Even when Michael had supported me, he had made it clear that it was at the expense of his own desires, and supporting him always came at the expense of mine. I knew compromise was important, but I didn't want one of us to constantly sacrifice for the other; I wanted an equal partner. No matter how hard we'd tried – and we had tried, for three years – we had never been equal partners in anything.

Until two days ago, if anyone had asked me what my future held, I would've said Michael without hesitation. Now, I was starting to feel as if I had dodged a bullet I hadn't even seen coming. And, if Ron was right, perhaps I'd dodged it just in time.

* * *

 **The next chapter is shaping up to be a really long one, so it might be longer than normal before I update again. But if you need reading material, check out all the amazing authors and stories in my favourites - I read Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Remus/Tonks, and Albus/Scorpius pairings :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

 **Harry's POV**

I usually spent days off with Ginny, but now that Ron was here, that didn't seem like such a good idea. I thought about going to see Hermione, but I didn't really feel like talking to her right now. She knew me too well, saw too much, and would have a lot to say about Ginny and I's sudden closeness.

As the sun set, lowering the whole camp into darkness, I couldn't stay in my trailer alone any longer. I grabbed my cloak and headed over to Ginny's, hoping that Ron had gone back to his hotel for the evening. It was Saturday night, after all, and I imagined he'd be out enjoying the sights, sounds, and women of muggle London.

I knocked on her door, but heard nothing inside. I was used to that, but for some reason, I hesitated. _What if she's sleeping? What if she wants to be left alone?_ I raised my hand to knock again, but the door slowly swung open, and I gingerly stepped inside. It was just as dark inside as it was outside, and I squinted to make out her pale face in the gloom.

Ginny lit a lantern with a flick of her wand, then pointed it at the door behind me, softly closing it. Her expression was impassive, but her demeanour was sombre. She met my eyes briefly, but I couldn't read what was in them. Her tiny frame was curled up into the corner of her sofa, swamped in... _wait, is that my old Hogwarts Quidditch top?_

Ginny flushed slightly, realising she'd been caught, but still remained resolutely silent. It wasn't the kind of deadly silent that happened when she was angry, though; it was a peaceful, if slightly melancholy quiet, like that of an empty churchyard.

Finally, she opened her mouth. "We need to talk." The words were nothing more than a whisper, but they could have been a roar for the strength of the punch they delivered to my gut.

"Ginny..." I whispered back. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes flashed up to me, her eyebrows pulled together in bewilderment. "Sorry for what?" she asked, incredulous. "I'm the one who's sorry! Ron was awful to you!"

 _Oh. Well, that wasn't what I was expecting._

I sank down onto the sofa, careful to keep a safe distance between us. Ginny eyed the gap with distaste, and I knew why, but I wanted to give her space to talk about... well, whatever it was that had her so upset. I held a hand out to her, resting it on top of hers in consolation.

"What is it, Gin?"

She looked away and dug her teeth into her lower lip; it was a move that made me want to both comfort her and kiss her, but I didn't have time to question the strange combination of reactions.

Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath. "Harry, you have to understand... Ron's a good person. A good man. Sometimes, like when he's had a little to drink, he's the real him for a little while."

My eyebrows pulled together. _What does she mean?_ But I stayed silent, knowing that she would continue in her own time.

"I've never told anyone this, Harry," she said, looking at me nervously, "and please, please don't tell anyone I've told you."

I was hurt that she'd think I would, but I tried my best not to let it show on my face. "Of course, Ginny." I gently squeezed her cold hand, which rested limply in mine. "I'll never tell anyone."

Ginny nodded slowly, returning her gaze to an empty spot on the wall near the door. "Ron saw his baby brother die. Right in front of him."

I gasped, my hand gripping hers. "Oh, Ginny..." I murmured, but I don't think she heard me.

"The First Wizarding War. Nineteen-eighty-one."

I froze slightly, but said nothing.

"Mum and Dad were against You-Know-Who, and he'd found out. They sent all four of my brothers into hiding with our Aunt Muriel. Ron was four, and Percy was just ten months old." Ginny's voice was flat; she sounded emotionless, but her eyes were full of pain for the horror that had happened long before she was born. "But the Death Eaters found them. Mum and Dad couldn't get back in time. Fred and George were older, so they hid in the cellar. Ron hid, too, in a cupboard. Auntie Muriel tried to keep Percy quiet, but it was no use, he was too scared." Ginny's hand gripped mine, and the next sentence was barely a whisper. "They killed Auntie Muriel and Percy right there, right in front of Ron, then set the whole house on fire."

My heart clenched. "Fuck... Oh, fuck, Ginny, I'm so sorry."

She shrugged, but neither of us believed the nonchalance the action tried to portray.

She reached over to a photo album on the table. "Ron left this with me. I want you to see it." She handed it to me wordlessly; the leather was soft and worn, warm in my hands, and I held it almost reverently.

As I carefully turned the pages, Ginny pointed out her Mum, Dad, and four brothers in the photos, a faint smile coming to her lips at the happy faces smiling back at us.

"Ginny," I said, slowly, "I don't mean to be rude..." She looked at me sharply, but curiosity was eating away at me. "But I thought the Wizarding War only happened in England?"

Ginny frowned, puzzled by the question; clearly, this wasn't what she'd expected me to ask.

"It did," she said, slowly. "Why?"

It was my turn to be confused. "But... you're American?"

Realisation dawned on her face, and she smiled softly. "I am," she said, simply, "but everyone else is from Devon. Mum and Dad moved the family to America after... well, _after_."

I nodded. I could understand why they would want to get as far away as possible. I returned my attention back to the album, and gently turned the page. The air left my lungs and my body froze. I could feel my heart trying to tear itself out of my chest.

Ginny didn't seem to notice at first. "That's my parents," she said, quietly, "with a lot of the people who stood up to You-Know-Who with them."

"Ginny," I rasped out, my throat fighting each syllable. A shaking finger pointed to a black-haired man and a ginger haired woman, standing arm in arm. "Ginny, those are my parents."

 **Ginny's POV**

I'd hated myself, just a little, for the feeling of relief that washed over me when Harry appeared in my doorway. As the youngest of four, and the only girl, I'd always been stubbornly independent. And yet, here I was, jumping out of one bed and into another – only figuratively, thank Godric, but it was still behaviour I found unpalatable. I hated myself even more for getting cold feet; instead of talking to Harry about the thoughts that had been hammering around inside my skull all afternoon, I'd elected to spill Ron's deepest, darkest secrets instead. I was a liar and a coward, and I hated myself for it.

Harry's question about my nationality steered the conversation back to me, rather than Ron, and I scrambled to steer it away again. Suddenly remembering the album Ron had found in the attic and brought for me – _a little piece of home_ , he'd said – I grabbed it and shoved it into Harry's hands.

"Ron left this with me. I want you to see it."

It wasn't a complete lie; I had wanted to share the photos with him. Most of them pre-dated my birth, so there was little chance of embarrassing baby photos, or even more embarrassing pre-teen photos.

Harry turned each page almost reverently, pausing one each photo, waiting for me to identify the people in them. Sometimes, I even threw in a little bit of background information, like where the photo had been taken, or what the occasion was. He seemed thoroughly engrossed, which left me to my own pessimistic, self-flagellating thoughts.

I realised, belatedly, that Harry had turned the page. He was quiet, waiting patiently for me to list the people in the photo. "That's my parents," I explained, "with a lot of the people who stood up to You-Know-Who with them." I couldn't remember all of the names, but I could probably give him some of them, if he asked.

"Ginny," he choked out. The pain was so evident in his voice, it sounded like he was being tortured. I froze, icy-cold dread shooting through my veins. A shaking finger pointed to a black-haired man and a ginger haired woman, standing arm in arm. "Ginny, those are my parents."

I looked up sharply. Why would a photo of his parents cause him so much pain?

Harry took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the photo, but avoided my gaze, staring instead at a frayed edge of the leather album. The silence stretched on between us, far more fraught than any silence between us ever had been.

Eventually, Harry took a deep breath. "They died," he said, quietly. "In nineteen-eighty-one."

I flinched. _The same year as Percy_ , I realised. Here I was going on about how terrible it was to lose a brother I'd never met, when the boy beside me had lost his parents. I dropped my head into my hands, allowing myself to drown in my own guilt. How could I have been so stupid? How had I never noticed that Harry never mentioned his parents? _Godric, he must really hate me._

Suddenly, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Part of me wanted to pull away in revulsion – at myself, not him – and part of me wanted to lean into the touch and allow myself to forget everything. I couldn't decide which part of me to listen to, so I did neither.

The hand moved to my head, gently stroking my hair. The part of me that was filled with revulsion for my selfishness grew, and my eyes filled with burning tears. I bit my lip and fought back the sobs, but with one, ragged breath, they overtook me, shaking my entire body.

Immediately, I felt Harry's strong arms wrap around me, pulling me into a comforting embrace. Anger flared in me, the hate I felt for myself turning outwards, and I tensed, ready to shove Harry away, horrible things to say rising in my throat. But then I felt his lips press softly to my forehead, and all the fight left me. My anger disappeared as quickly as it had come, and slumped against him, my hot tears soaking his shirt. All of my self-condemning thoughts vanished, leaving only one: Harry was too good for me. His parents had died, I was as selfish as they come, and he didn't even know why I was crying... yet here he was, holding me as if nothing else mattered. I didn't deserve that. I didn't deserve him. _I'm not good enough_ , I thought, miserably.

I felt Harry tense, and braced myself for the worst, but Harry pulled me closer and pressed his lips to my temple. "Oh, Ginny," he whispered, sadly, "you have no idea how good you are."

The shock cut my sob off in my throat. "What?" I asked, sharply, looking up at him in horror.

His eyes were soft, but I could see unease in the tightness around them. "You said you weren't good enough," he said, softly. "Good enough for what, I'm not sure, but I can assure you that you are."

Embarrassment that I'd accidentally spoken aloud flared my anger once more, and my eyes narrowed. "How can you presume to tell me that I'm good enough if you don't even know what for?" I snapped. I was rewarded by a brief flicker of hurt in Harry's eyes, but it was quickly replaced with tenacity.

"Because you are," he said, enunciating each word. "You are and always will be more than good enough. For everything and everyone."

My initial instinct was to scoff at him, but the look in his eyes stopped me. I knew he was wrong, but I also knew that Harry meant every word. He was not attempting to placate me, and I respected him for that.

I allowed my head to drop back onto Harry's chest with a sigh of resignation.

"I'm so sorry about your parents," I murmured, allowing emotion to colour my tone so that Harry knew these were not just empty words. I really was sorry for all the pain he's had to endure; I couldn't imagine living without either of my parents, and it broke my heart to imagine Harry losing his at such a young age. "I never knew."

Harry leaned back into the couch, pulling me with him until most of my body rested in top of his. I knew friends didn't cuddle like this, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world with Harry. His fingers wove through my hair, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest soothed me.

"I don't tell people," he replied. "Mostly because people already know, but also because I hate to see the pity in their eyes when I say it." He shrugged slightly, the movement nudging my head a little bit closer to his neck. "Plus... now I'm an adult, it never really comes up."

I nodded slowly. I understood why he'd never said anything, but I still wish I'd known. I tried to lighten the mood slightly. "So, where did you grow up?"

Harry relaxed slightly beneath me, obviously welcoming the change in conversation. I tilted my head up enough to see the gentle smile tugging on the edges of his lips. "I grew up in a little muggle village in Wales. My Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus adopted me after my parents died." There was still a shadow of sadness in his eyes when he mentioned his parents, but the pain had lessened, and I was grateful for that.

"Do you have any siblings?" I asked, curiously.

Harry smirked. "Gay wizards don't often make babies, Gin."

I blanched. "Oh!" I gasped, feeling the blush rise to my cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm sorry I didn't–"

"Realise?" Harry finished, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "I know."

I glared at him. "So, no siblings?"

Harry chuckled. "I didn't say that, either."

I looked around for something to hit him with, and he seemed to realise his mistake. He quickly pulled me back into his chest and resumed stroking my hair. "Once I'd left for Hogwarts, they were quite lonely. Where we lived was... remote. Out of necessity. They adopted a muggle-born boy. His name is Teddy, and he's..." Harry trailed off, and I could feel his fingers tapping against my back as if he was trying to count something. "Ten," he said, finally. "Oh my god, he's ten. He'll be at Hogwarts next year."

I giggled. "People always say they grow up fast," I offered. I knew it was true; my nephew had gone from a newborn to a rambunctious elementary school terror in the blink of an eye.

Harry nodded. "They do. I guess when you rarely see them, it's even more true." I could hear the sadness in his tone, and could tell he regretted how little he saw his family.

"When's the last time you saw them?" I asked. He hadn't gone away for Christmas, and I'd never thought to ask why because I'd been so busy dealing with Michael.

Harry was quiet for a few minutes. "July," he said, eventually. "For my birthday. And briefly in October, at my parents' graves, but we didn't say much."

I nodded, understanding what it was like to see less of your family than you would like. We sat in companionable silence for a time – it could have been minutes or hours – with my head resting on Harry's chest, and Harry's fingers playing gently with my hair.

If I never breathed a word of my epiphany earlier, Harry would be none the wiser. Only I would know that I'd been to scared to tell the truth. But letting myself down was worse, in some ways. I knew I couldn't just come out and say it, but I felt compelled to share it with him. Slowly, an idea began to form.

"Harry," I said, carefully.

He looked down at me immediately. "Yes?"

"What do you know about drinking games?"

He studied me intently, his eyes guarded. "Why?"

"Let's play one!"

"No."

I flinched, shocked by the abruptness of his response. I looked away, carefully composing myself, then turned back to meet his gaze. My eyebrows pulled up, my eyes widened and blinked through my thick lashes, and my lower lip poked out just a touch. My brothers had always called it my 'angel face', because it could get me anything I wanted, and out of any trouble I may have gotten into. Softening my voice, I quietly whispered, "please, Harry?"

He closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards onto the couch. "Ugh," he groaned, "fine!"

I allowed myself a brief, smug smile as I summoned a bottle of gin from the cupboard. "It's salted caramel. You won't even know there's alcohol in it!"

Harry groaned again. "That's what I'm worried about."

I giggled, amused by his apparent reluctance. I _liked_ drunk Harry. Drunk Harry touched me and kissed me and told me I was beautiful. Sober Harry was a gentleman, soft and caring and polite, but drunk Harry was a maverick, bold and audacious and sexy. After an emotionally draining day, I needed drunk Harry. Drunk Harry would make me forget.

"So," I said, as I poured us each a small glass, "the rules are simple. You answer a question truthfully, or you take a drink."

Harry eventually sat up, glaring at me reproachfully. "You've been trying to get me drunk an awful lot lately," he accused.

I made a big show of putting the photo album away in a drawer, not turning around until I was sure my telltale blush had subsided. Once I had myself under control, I raised an eyebrow at Harry, "is that so? I think you're just worried that a girl will drink you under the table."

My goading worked. Harry reached for his glass and met my eyes defiantly. "Go on then. Ask away."

I feigned disinterest. "Since you're new to this, I'll start with an easy one," I lied, hoping my nonchalance would put him off his guard enough to give an honest answer. "You've told me about your family, and I've told you about mine. So, in the future, what do you see for _your_ family?"


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the long hiatus. There will probably be quite long breaks between each chapter from now on and I do apologise for that, but I do plan to continue this, however slowly that may be.

* * *

 **A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING**

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

 **Harry's POV**

 _Huh._ Ginny had said she'd go easy on me, but I wasn't expecting her to go _that_ easy on me. Maybe she wasn't trying to get me drunk after all. Either way, I had no problem answering her question; I knew what I wanted from life, because I'd grown up watching Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius – I wanted a love like theirs. "I want kids," I said, "not just one, cause being an only kid was lonely, but not too many, either." I paused, wondering if this was enough to placate Ginny; obviously it wasn't, because she stayed silent, waiting for me to continue. "But I have a career that's all-consuming," I said, "so I want a wife who has that, too. Maybe we'll slow down in the future, but I'm not ready to slow down just yet, and I want someone who will understand that. I want someone who sees me for me, and not for my past or my fame. I want someone to share life with, an equal partner, a best friend," I stopped abruptly, wondering if I'd said too much, but Ginny was listening with a small smile on her face. I smiled back, "and a dog. I definitely want a dog."

Ginny giggled quietly, but nodded. "Every family should have a dog," she agreed. "Your turn."

I twirled my wand in my fingers as I considered what to ask. There was so much I wanted to know, but I knew if I jumped in at the deep end, she would just take a drink and clam up. As I came to the conclusion that I needed to start out easy, I wondered if that's what Ginny was doing to me, too. I needed to avoid drinking and stay on my guard; I had cards that I intended to keep very close to my chest indefinitely.

"Okay," I said, slowly, still considering how to word my question. "Do you see your future in England or America?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral. It seemed an innocent enough question, and I didn't want her to suspect that I had a vested interest in the answer. What I really wanted to know was: _Are you planning on sticking around?_ It was selfish of me to want her to stay; she had family there, just as I had family here, but still, a tiny piece of me dared to hope.

If Ginny had suspected any motive behind the innocuous question, she didn't let it show. She considered the question for a few moments, before shrugging. "Probably England, I guess. Career prospects are better, and despite the all the weird shit you Brits do and say, I kind of like the place."

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a victorious grin. "Hey! Your parents are British!"

"And they're weird as fuck," she deadpanned.

I couldn't help but laugh at that, and soon her peals of laughter joined mine, warming my already-ecstatic heart. When we sobered, I nodded in her direction. "Got something to ask me, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes at me for a second, then smiled. "Yes, I do, Mr. Potter. How many girls have you dated?"

I relaxed a little. "Two. How many boys have you dated?"

Ginny's pause made me tense. _Merlin, how many had there been?_ "What counts as dating? I mean, I held a boy's hand every day in first grade...?"

I rolled my eyes. "You're being pedantic, Miss Weasley," I said, seriously, in my best imitation of Uncle Remus' 'professor voice'. "Anyone you had a relationship with, however brief, when you were older than thirteen."

Ginny's eyes twinkled with mischief at my attempt to scold her and smiled sweetly. "Five, then."

My eyebrows rose slightly, but I shouldn't have been surprised. Ginny was a stunning, fiery young woman – who wouldn't want to date her? I knew what my next question would be, and though I wasn't sure Ginny would answer it, I braced myself in case she did. "How many have you slept with?"

Ginny's eyes darted to her untouched glass of gin, but then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, they were steely. "Two. You?"

Now, my eyes darted to the gin. I knew she would turn my question back on me, and yet I wasn't fully prepared. My hesitation was giving me away, and I knew I had to make a decision quickly. Answer or drink. Answer or... "One."

"Which girlfriend? The first or second one?"

"Neither."

Ginny's mouth dropped open momentarily, before her face morphed into an expression of distaste. "Neither?"

"That's not really a question. And it's my turn to ask you one."

Ginny glared at me silently.

"Who's your least favourite team member?"

"Malfoy. Who did you sleep with?"

I met her burning glare, grabbed my glass, and downed the whole thing.

 **Ginny's POV**

"How many have you slept with?"

I flinched. I should have seen that one coming. The temptation to drink and avoid the question almost overwhelmed me, but I resisted. I wanted Harry to want me, and discussing past sexual partners was hardly pillow talk... But I wanted Harry to want _me_ , exactly as I was, and that included telling him the truth about my relationship history. "Two. You?"

If he wanted the truth from me, then I needed the truth from him, too, even if I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it. Harry had never seemed like a one and done kind of guy to me, but I could tell from the way girls threw themselves at him that he would have no trouble finding a different girl every night of the week if he were so inclined. From the way Harry hesitated over the answer, I feared the worst.

"One."

 _Oh. Wait... what? One?_

"Which girlfriend? The first or second one?" I wasn't sure why it mattered, but I was sure that it did, and I'd have plenty of time to analyse the information later.

"Neither."

 _Neither? What the fuck did he mean by neither? He lost his virginity to a girl he wasn't even dating?! What the..._ "Neither?" I gasped, unable to hide the judgement in my tone.

I saw the briefest flash of hurt cross Harry's eyes, and I almost felt guilty. Almost.

"That's not really a question. And it's my turn to ask one," he snapped.

I glared back at him. If he thought I would give up that easily, he didn't know me at all.

"Who's your least favourite team member?"

 _What a stupid question._ "Malfoy," I muttered, though it was obvious. He was everyone's least favourite. "Who did you sleep with?"

Harry's eyes met mine. He grabbed his glass and chugged the whole thing before slamming it down on the table so hard I thought it was going to smash.

"Oh," he spat, angrily, "is that how we're going to play it? Demanding to know secrets that aren't mine to tell because I'm gentleman enough to respect a witch's request for privacy?" He raised one eyebrow, daring me to argue with him. Too late, I realised that my question had crossed some kind of invisible line. My heart sank with the realisation that, whoever she was, Harry must have loved her to still be so fiercely loyal to her. Harry must _still_ love her. I suddenly felt incredibly stupid for believing for a second that he might be interested in me. Clearly, I was just someone to waste time with, since the girl he loved – whoever she was – wasn't around.

I dropped my gaze and pulled my knees up to my chin. "Sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure exactly what I was sorry for. I _was_ sorry that I'd upset him, I just wish I knew why he was so upset.

He didn't seem to take any notice of the sudden change in my mood, because his angry glare didn't waver. "So, Ginevra, here's my question. Why do you want to get me drunk?"

I wasn't going to play his games; he wanted me to answer so he'd have something to get angry about. I hugged my knees tighter to my chest and stayed silent.

I waited for Harry to start yelling, but he didn't. The silence stretched out between us, but I was too stubborn to give in and break it. Knowing Harry like I did, I knew he could give me a run for my money in being pig-headed.

Suddenly, I felt a calloused hand brush against my cheek. "Ginny."

My head flew up in shock. Harry was sitting beside me, his eyes uneasy and his expression remorseful. Maybe I didn't know Harry as well as I thought I did. _Or maybe you mean more to him than you realise_ , a quiet voice in my head whispered. I didn't dare believe it.

Harry's hand rested softly on my cheek, and I couldn't decide whether to lean into the reassuring warmth, or recoil from the touch that clearly meant less to him than it did to me. His eyes met mine, and I looked away reflexively.

"Ginny," he murmured, imploringly. "Please look at me."

Still feeling hurt, angry, and stubborn, I shook my head.

Harry's hand dropped from my cheek, and the loss caused a physical pain to shoot through my heart, leaving an agonizing ache behind. I bit my lip to hold back the tears. _How did this night go so badly wrong?_

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Uhm, Ginny, can I ask you something?"

I shrugged petulantly, feeling every bit the teenager I actually was.

Harry was clearly a far braver man than any of my brothers or ex-boyfriends, because he was not deterred. "Ginny, what did... what happ-" Harry paused and took a deep breath. "What happened last night?"


End file.
